He Missed His Son’s Eye Surgery For Her Follow-Up Visit Chapter 02

He Missed His Son’s Eye Surgery For Her Follow-Up Visit Chapter 02

Gavin grabbed the bear and shut it off.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Claire, I didn’t mean for it to go down like that. Vanessa just had her procedure—she couldn’t be by herself. And I’d already run everything by Eli’s surgeon beforehand. There was no way anything was gonna go wrong.”

I laughed. “So you not showing up counts as being there?”

Gavin’s jaw tightened. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

He crouched in front of Eli and pulled a box from his suitcase.

“Eli, Daddy brought you a present. You used to love stars, right?”

He opened it—an imported star projector lamp.

He pressed the button.

Blue-violet lights swirled across the walls.

Before, Eli would’ve clapped and squealed.

But now, Eli yelped and covered his right eye, scrambling backward.

I killed the lamp. “Gavin!”

He froze. “What?”

I stared at him. “No flashing lights for six months post-op.”

Gavin’s hand hung in midair.

He was an ophthalmologist.

And he didn’t know his own son’s post-surgery restrictions.

Eli whispered, “Mommy, the stars hurt my eye.”

Gavin’s face cycled through colors.

He was about to explain when his phone buzzed.

The screen lit up with a name. 　　Vanessa.

His expression softened—almost automatically.

“What’s up?”

On the other end, Vanessa’s voice quavered. “Gavin, I can’t find my visa paperwork. My advisor says I have to submit the ophthalmology evaluation by tomorrow, and I can’t do this alone. Can you come over?”

Gavin held the phone and glanced at Eli.

Eli looked back.

Quiet.

Gavin hesitated for two seconds, then stood. “Claire, Vanessa’s paperwork is due today. I’m just gonna go help her knock it out, and I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t stop him.

Eli didn’t cry.

After the door closed, Eli walked to the trash can and dropped the star projector inside.

Then he hugged the bear and recorded another message. 　　“Bear, Daddy’s stars hurt. I don’t want stars anymore.”

I pulled him into my arms.

His tiny body pressed into me, weightless—like he might shatter if I held him too tight.

After Eli fell asleep, I opened my desk drawer.

Inside: the referral notice from Westbrook Pediatric Rehab Center.

And a fully prepared divorce filing.

I circled a date fifteen days from now in red marker.

The final registration deadline for the specialist consultation.

I’d trusted Gavin too many times.

This time, I wouldn’t let Eli’s light die waiting for his so-called “next time.” 　　Ten days left.

I’d just finished a night shift when the rehab center called.

The receptionist’s tone was polite, but her words hit like ice water. 　　“Mrs. Hastings, Eli’s consultation appointment has been canceled.”

I thought I’d misheard. “Canceled by who?”

“The system shows Dr. Gavin Hastings—the father—used his hospital collaboration credentials to remove it.”

I stood in the hallway, my coffee hitting the floor.

Brown liquid splashed across my sneakers.

She continued, “Also, the reserved rehab bed has been released. If you rebook, the earliest opening is two months out.”

Two months.

The doctors had said the first three months post-op were the visual training window.

Miss that, and a lot of functions would never fully recover.

I hung up and drove straight home.

Gavin was in his study.

Eli’s charts, rehab evaluations, and an international sponsorship application were spread across his desk.

He wore his gold-rimmed glasses and was organizing Vanessa’s paperwork with laser focus.

That look of concentration—I’d seen it a hundred times.

In hospital promos.

At academic conferences.

Every time Vanessa whimpered his name.

Never on Eli.

I yanked Eli’s chart off the table. “You canceled Eli’s specialist consult?”